Free 'Til the End of Time by Iris Johansen Page A

He took her arm. “Come.”
    She glanced up at him, startled. “Where are we going?”
    “You wanted a bath.” He was propelling her toward the perimeter of the camp. “You’re going to get one.”
    “Here?” She glanced around. She could see at least twenty soldiers milling around the glade. “I think I’d prefer a little more privacy.”
    “It will be private. You’ve forgotten how possessive I am. I’ve given orders that anyone within fifty yards of your ‘bathtub’ will answer to me.” He smiled grimly. “In my present mood I think I might be glad if one of them disobeyed.”
    There was precious little chance his wish might come true, she thought. The aura of leashed violence surrounding Sandor would discourage any trespassers.
    Her “bathtub” turned out to be a small, clear pond about a half mile from the camp. It was surrounded by thick shrubbery, forming a nautral protective barrier to guard her privacy.
    Sandor reached into his pocket, brought out a bar of soap, and handed it to her. “Don’t lose it in the water. Soap is as scarce as all our other supplies right now. I’ll go back to the base and scavenge a bit to find you a clean towel, and I’ll bring your backpack at the same time.” He turned away. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
    She slowly shook her head as she watched him walk away without a backward glance. Just when she thought she had begun to know the man, he showed her a new and different side of his character. She might as well have been one of the bushes rimming the pond, for all the personal concern she’d detected in his parting words. Telling herself he must be upset by the news he hadlearned didn’t lessen her pique. Pique. What a petty emotion. She believed she had outgrown such childish emotions … but now it seemed Sandor was inspiring all sorts of feelings to emerge in her—and not all of them pleasant.
    Perhaps, she thought, his actions hadn’t been as abrupt and impersonal as they seemed. Her past experiences had precluded the possibility of her having much modesty remaining in her makeup, but he couldn’t know that. Gallantly, he was providing privacy for her, as he hadn’t been able to do last night at the palace. She felt a stirring of tenderness for Sandor, and a slight smile curved her lips as she began to unbutton her blouse.
    She was singing. No, it was more of a throaty hum, with an occasional word here and there. Sandor paused before the screen of shrubbery to listen. Lord, there wasn’t a more sensual sound on earth than a woman softly crooning to herself. He felt an equally natural and obvious bodily reaction to the unconscious sensuality of the sound. So obvious, he was forced to wait for a moment before pushing his way through the shrubbery.
    Alessandra was standing in the middle of the pool, her back to him, her wet hair clinging to her neck and falling in long strands down her back. He hadn’t realized her hair was so long. It came to the middle of her naked back, now that it was no longer bound in a bun. Naked. The realization caught him with brutal force. He had been expecting it, yet the shock was still there, tightening the muscles of his stomach and thighs, stroking his arousal with feather-light fingers ofelectricity. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to look away, hoping some of the ache would disappear if he could no longer see her. Yet he couldn’t shift his eyes away from her.
    The water in which she stood was waist deep, but clear so that he could see the pale gleam of her lush hips and strong, well-shaped legs. Crystal drops of water beaded her shoulders and the long, beautiful line of her spine. Her skin glowed with a nearly palpable sheen in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. He watched in fascination as a small drop of water began to glide with excruciating slowness from her shoulder blade down her back. He smothered a groan as intense desire stabbed his loins.
    The low croon broke off, and he saw the